it's warm
by Umuulan
Summary: with connor right beside him, breath shaking although he doesn't need it, hank wonders about one last thing. (suicide warning)


_Crossposted on AO3 under the same username._

_Title formerly, 'final seconds'_

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**A/N**: This is based from sad-1st(from tumblr)'s animatic titled, "_Last Minutes_", which I highly suggest you check out first. Just search up, "archive of our own umuulan" (my other fic account), click the first link, click the username, search for the fic with the same title and click the link on the author's note. It shouldn't take too long to do all that; otherwise you might not fully grasp what's going on in this fic.

But if for some reason you can't find it, here's a brief summary (although it's a whole lot better if you watch it yourself): _'Machine' Connor, who succeeded his mission yet is getting replaced, returns to (hotile) Hank, dead on his spot where Connor last saw him. He takes a seat next his partner and shares with the bloodied man a one-sided heart-to-heart conversation, a sign of last minute deviancy (_of feeling alive_), before the deviant hunters take his life away.__  
_

The main difference here is: **Hank is still alive, but never spoke the whole time**, which is inspired by my initial misinterpretation of the vid.

I'll warn ya'll again that this fic contains **suicide**. If that triggers you, please turn back now.

By the way, _this is my first time writing a sensitive topic_, so please keep that in mind if you decide to continue on. I'm fully aware that I'm not really the best writer for this story, but I'm willing to somehow get past my noob skills, even if it'll take forever. :)

(**LSS**: "Sparkle" by RADWIMPS, Harutya & Kobasolo cover.)

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"in only a couple of minutes, the fbi will show up a-and take my body away. dump it in the trash pile along with the rest of the deviants…" connor says, the programmed formal tone abandoned.

hank doesn't utter a single word ever since connor returned with the message that he has been replaced despite the massive success of his mission that changed the world forever… for the worse.

he came to share his last words with hank, connor said.

(last words _his ass, isn't connor just gonna casually rise up from the death like some fucking god?)_

if only hank preserved the last of his strength, he'll throw the bloodied pump regulator, which connor removed from his system and rested on the table besides the picture frame, far away, out of the broken window, and drag the bleeding connor out as well, bellowing at him to stop fucking around like they're long time buddies (_because they never were, never have been_) and fuck off.

but what's done is done, and no violence hurled at connor can ever change that.

when he took a seat besides hank and waited for a reply that never came, connor said he regrets the grim outcomes, that his focus on his mission has made him forget everyone's sentiment (_that he turned a blind eye to the freedom the deviants were desperately fighting for_).

throughout their time as supposed-partners, he always felt a deep connection between the both of them, connor said uncharacteristically.

they could have been friends, connor said, sounding regretful.

if only he made the right decisions, connor said, breath shuddering

but he wanted to redeem his unforgivable mistakes in the afterlife, connor said, sighing.

because hank was the one who made him feel _alive_, connor said, voice cracking.

how the hell can hank believe all that shit when connor's been nothing but a machine, designed to accomplish, no, to die for the sake of accomplishing a task _literally_?

_in every. fucking. given. chance._

(_hank gave up counting the times he had to, in agony, watch connor bleed himself to death as his brain replays a familiar scene from long ago._)

if he's falling for connor's honeyed words, of all times why did he deviate on last minute? did some virus enter into his program uninvited? if only his system's gone haywire sooner, then none of this shit would ever have happ-

ah, fuck it. does it even matter now? outside this dimly lit still house, the perfect image of what serenity looks like, androids are being treated and slaughtered like animals (_monsters_), its cause dying right next to him. there's no way (_no hope_) to rewind all this unfortunate turn of events. end of story.

hank wants to believe all the lies connor has said tonight.

hank blinks his heavy eyes, and to his right, connor's left hand hangs limply, blue blood clinging onto his fingers. no matter how often connor damages himself, not once did it fail to trigger his stomach to twist so hard he can't breathe and violently force its content out of his bloody mouth, but not this time. he's too weak to even move a muscle and react.

what a pity. hank even liked the rather cool and relaxing shade of his own eyes (_even when its twinkling innocence and brightness faded since forever_). maybe the fact that it's also _his_ favorite color intensifies the sickness of the ugly sight of connor's blood.

but that's okay. this is the last time he'll see it anyway. it'll never happen again.

(_at least that's what connor reassured._)

despair may have overpowered the rest of his other lingering emotions, but despite his drained mind and long lost will, curiosity somehow found its way around. a mocking choice since there's nothing worth learning anymore.

it isn't the hopeful kind. he's just wondering…

what does it feel like to hold an android's hand? is it as chilling as metal (and connor's 'former' unsympathetic self) that bites off your skin?

or is it as warm as cole's?

wordlessly, hank reaches out and gently wraps his aged fingers around connor's stained palm, the one capable of a thousand ways to murder. connor flinches the moment their skins brushed each other, but he doesn't jerk away. his freckled hand tenses when hank held it, unresponsive to the foreign gesture.

there isn't much difference how hot (so androids do overheat like computers, huh?) and sticky their blood feels from its opposite hue, hank observes. pushing that detail aside, he must admit, cyberlife's done a decent job replicating the natural soft touch and inviting body heat of mankind. although something about this seems off.

perhaps it's simply because it is an android's hand.

but that fact can probably be left ignored as long as the android _is human_.

another silence so deafening it can provoke someone to pull their hair out and drive somebody insane from the unbearable tension passed when connor clutches back hank's veined hand, his synthetic skin giving way to expose the white chassis beneath. the fuck is he doing? there's nothing for him to see, and even if they're both the same species, there's nothing to hide anymore.

not even if connor sneaks into his most personal of recalls. not even if he saw _him_.

but this part of the android language only means one more thing: according to connor, deviants connect each other when they gain one another's trust, allowing the receiver to learn in the deepest depths of their partner's memories what the giver won't normally reveal such as their darkest past and disturbing secrets. this symbolizes the most intimate of android affection (_love_).

but hank isn't even an android…

fuck.

if only hank isn't so fucking broken to express anything, _anything_, he'll break down right here, right now.

"hank…" connor hiccups as his mechanical hand trembles, his voice robotic behind the human sounding bit. he sucks in another deep shaky breath he doesn't need, and then connor _chuckles_. shit. hank swears his scarred heart finally split and shattered into a million tiny shards, deeply gashing his insides, just from hearing the strained laugh.

it hurts.

"_hank… i'd really hope to see you soon._"

and with that, the smaller hand holding his partner's freezes.

hank remains stone still on his spot. he takes the time to sink in the information until the temperature of connor's plastic hand eventually drops into icy cold, the answer hank dreaded when he initially wondered about android hands.

connor has deactivated. hank's subconsciousness soothes him, _nah. he'll be back soon. i know another connor's just lounging around the corner like some damn pussy. anytime now, he's gonna barge in and destroy the mood as usual,_ but if everything connor told him is true, that he became obsolete, _useless_, then this must be really it. connor's not coming back anymore. hank isn't used to this.

connor has truly _died_…

_cole…_

that's it.

hank takes the gun lying and inviting on the table with his free hand and points it on his temple. he's not gonna fuck around this time. he's no longer reconsidering. no more second chances and all that bullshit.

he's ready.

without realizing it, hank chances a look on connor's face for the first time that night. the first thing he notices is the tiny blank led neither swirling in calm blue, confused yellow, or glaring red. connor's head is leaning towards hank, and his eyes are fluttered shut. both his cheeks glisten where tears once streamed, and a small _warm_ smile lingers on connor's sleeping face, seemingly oblivious of the unshed scarlet blood that's about to burst and spill.

jesus fucking christ, connor isn't even _breathing_ anymore, yet this is the most human-looking hank has ever seen in him. he wants to bark his loudest laugh at how fucking majestic the irony is.

oh well.

(_maybe connor's been confessing the truth after all._)

if what connor wondered is true, that if there is a heaven that also awaits and welcomes the unfortunate androids, where all kinds can live happily together, then hank's infinite times more than glad to trade his shitty hellhole of a life for the eternal bliss the afterlife promises no matter how disgustingly cliché it sounds like even when he's fully aware that humanity merely invented such concepts to tame their never-ending paranoia. hank just hopes connor won't act like a bitch this time when he follows him there.

will connor's smile remain in their dreams though?

there's only one way to find out.

hank rests his head against the kid's, and with one last squeeze on his son's hand…

_see ya soon, connor._

hank pulls the trigger-


End file.
